


State of Grace

by hopefuleigh



Series: The Space Between [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steve Rogers Feels, traumatic past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-01-31 08:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21442981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefuleigh/pseuds/hopefuleigh
Summary: He had imagined this scenario a thousand times in his head, fantasized hundreds of variations of how things would go when he finally found her.  He searched every database within his reach, tapped into Natasha’s deep intelligence network, leaving no stone unturned.  All he knew about her life, every detail he could remember, all of it went into his search.  For the longest time, it had been the only good thing about waking up 70 years outside his time, the knowledge that she was real and she was out there and all he had to do was find her.When he finally does... it doesn’t go the way he expected.Part Two of The Girl in the Grey Space
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Series: The Space Between [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545907
Comments: 179
Kudos: 402





	1. The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are... thank you for following me from my first fic. Writing style will change as we are now out of “the grey space” and into the real world. Hold on tight...

_ Darcy is four years old, and she cannot stop asking her parents questions. Question after question, nothing is off limits for her inquisitive mind. And none of them are easily answered, even the ones about why the sky is blue and where the sun goes at night, which are known facts. _

_ “Mommy, where do I go when I dream?” she asks her mother one day as they walk home from the park. _

_ “No one really knows. But you don’t really go anywhere, it’s your mind showing you pictures while you sleep,” her mother explains. Darcy looks up at her with a frown. _

_ “No, that’s not true. I go away to the grey place. It’s not a picture my mind shows me. I know because Steve is there too,” Darcy responds, in the imperious matter-of-fact tone of a precocious four year old. _

_ “Who is Steve, honey?” her mother asks, perplexed. _

_ “He’s my friend. I see him every night when I go away in my dreams. He’s very handsome and he’s going to be my boyfriend when I’m all grown up.” _

_ Her mother laughs. _

_ “Well I hope Steve is a very nice boy, then,” she says, hardly able to contain her amusement. _

_ “He died in the war, but it’s okay because his heart didn’t stop,” Darcy explains matter-of-factly, which startles her mother, making her pause and contemplate her daughter’s chilling sincerity. She eventually laughs it off, and starts calling her daughter the Creepy Toddler and entertains her friends with the all the strange things her daughter tells her about her imaginary friend, the dead soldier who she will eventually meet one day in the future.  _

***

Steve looked down at the bustling concourse below him, scanning the crowd.  _ Brunette, petite, mid-20s. _ Wasn’t much of a description to go off and the blurry photos Nat was able to pull by hacking into the city’s CCTV weren’t all that helpful, but he wasn’t all that worried. He’d just find the girl matching that description who was constantly looking over her shoulder.

“Contact spotted crossing the concourse. Heading in your direction, Cap. I’m going to make the approach,” his radio crackled.

“Keep it light, Sam. Remember she’s not a hostile,” Steve muttered, his eyes zeroing in on the girl. Dark wool hat pulled down low, leather jacket, worn khaki shirt tied around her waist over ripped jeans, walking along in a hurry but without any purpose.  _ Not sure what her next move is, but afraid to keep still for too long. _

Natasha had approached him a few days before, saying she needed a favour.

“It’s a coded message. Came by way of an old contact, used to pass on messages for me when we had SHIELD operatives under cover. He was usually able to get information to them when it was unsafe for any from our side to try,” she had explained. She had looked shaken and upset, a rare and unsettling sight.

“What was the message?” he had asked. Natasha had started pacing, clearly agitated.

“It was from an agent we sent undercover years ago. Very low-level stuff, just observation, data collection, some minor hacking. But things started getting hot for her, and she went dark. We were working on extracting her without blowing her cover…”

“But then we took down SHIELD?” he has asked, sensing where the conversation was leading from Natasha’s agitated state.

“We took down SHIELD.”

“And she just got, what, left behind? Undercover, no exit plan?” he had growled. “Jesus, Nat, how did we let that happen?”

“We had some other things on the go, and she went  _ dark _ . At the time, I just assumed she did what she was trained to do. Go quiet, stay down until the coast is clear. By the time the dust settled with SHIELD… we were on to the next thing.”

“But the message - it’s from her?”

“Definitely from her. Lewis has a rather… unique style. She’s asking for help, and if she got her message to me the way I _ think _ she did, she’s not just asking because she thought it would be fun to catch up after a few years. She  _ needs _ our help.”

“We’re not exactly in the best position to help anyone, Nat. Last I checked, we’re kind of a gang of wanted fugitives,” he had said, frustrated. He was always frustrated when there wasn’t a clear right answer.

“It’s better than dead. Or worse. I just… I  _ need _ to make this right. And there is  _ no one else _ . I cleared her file before the data dump, no one else knows she even exists. Will you help me?” Natasha had asked him

“We’re sure this isn’t a set-up? It would be a pretty clever way for Ross to draw us out.”

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Natasha had answered, and the conviction in her voice was enough for him.

“Okay. Let’s put a plan together and set it up. Bring your girl home… Or as close to a friendly country with an non-extradition treaty as we can.”

And now they were putting the plan in motion.

He watched Sam cross the concourse, heading towards her. Most wouldn’t even notice someone was following them. This woman clearly wasn’t just anyone. It took a minute, but the movement caught her attention, and she froze as she realized there were eyes on her. She shifted her hat, tugging it lower, and continued to walk, but there was a tension in her movements and Steve knew she would be making a run for it as soon as she cleared the open part of the concourse and hit the narrow corridor just below him.

“She made you, Sam. She’s going to bolt. Let her. I’ve got this.”

***

Darcy looked around warily as she entered the main foyer of the train station, scouting around for a pay phone. She had had to toss her burner phone before the meeting was confirmed and she was really hoping they’d got the message. She didn’t really know what she was going to do if no one showed. 

Movement to her left caught her eye, and she glanced around. There was a man in dark clothing walking straight towards her. She froze, every muscle tense as her heartbeat pounded in her ears.  _ You know I will always find you, baby, wherever you go. _

She shuddered at the memory of his voice and it shook her out of her moment of panic. She was probably being overly paranoid, but she wanted to put distance between her and the man coming towards her anyway. There was a hallway up ahead, she was only a few yards away. As soon as she passed through the threshold between the concourse and the hallway, she took off at a dead run.

The healing scar across her abdomen tugged viciously and her lungs were starting to burn, but she could hear the heavy thud of footsteps behind her and forced her limbs to keep going. She rounded a corner and promptly ran into a brick wall that seemed to have suddenly dropped down from the ceiling.

Darcy flew backwards, limbs flailing and landed with a groan of pain. 

“Jesus, what are you, Iron Man?” she groaned, blinking in surprise as she saw that the ‘brick wall’ she’d run into was yet another intimidating-looking man in dark clothing. 

“Not quite,” he said. He bent over to help her up, his large hands practically lifting her to her feet in one swift, easy motion. She twisted out of his grip, trying to cover the hiss of pain that escaped as his hand aggravated a tender spot just under her ribs. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great, considering that I just ran straight into a brick wall masquerading as a human,” she said, her eyes catching sight of something above them. “A stealthy brick wall at that. Did you come through the  _ ceiling _ ?”

The human Brick Wall was more than a foot taller than her, insanely broad-shouldered and had a handsome face that was partly hidden behind a beard.

And he was staring at her in a very intense, searching way that made her deeply uncomfortable. She couldn’t make out  _ why _ he was staring at her with such an intense expression, but she could tell he recognized her and her heart started to pound. Her skin started to crawl, and her paranoia skyrocketed. She needed to find help.

“Are you real?” he asked in a hushed voice, his face transforming into open amazement as he stared at her.

“Almost definitely, and I took three quarters of a philosophy degree  _ just _ to make sure,” she answered wryly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be meeting a friend.”

She spun around and was dismayed to see the man who had been following her earlier had closed in on her. Between the Creepy Brick Wall and her newly-acquired stalker, she was caught.

She turned sideways, glancing back and forth between the two men.

“Any chance you’re with the good guys?” she asked with a heavy sigh. She lost her only weapon 18 hours ago, throwing the knife to get away from one of the henchmen that had chased her from the seedy motel she’d stayed in the night before. She was exhausted, hurting, defenseless and now, trapped.

“That depends. Are you Lewis?” the other guy said, his voice clear but not too loud. She looked at him, trying to read him better.

“ _ That _ depends. Who is asking?” she answered, crossing her arms in front of her defiantly.

“Someone who thinks strawberry Pop Tarts are superior to Toaster Strudel,” he answered, and she felt a relief so intense wash over her, her knees nearly gave out. “What the hell kind of code phrase is that?”

“I panicked. I’m a little out of  _ practice _ , considering my handler went AWOL a few years ago and everyone else went dark,” she shot back. Her head was starting to spin.

Brick Wall was still staring at her like she was from another planet, until she slumped backwards against the wall of the hallway. He dove forward, kneeling next to her. He grabbed her shoulders, and gave her face a searching look that made her shy away from him.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his deep voice practically resonating with concern. That was nice. It had been a long time since anyone really showed any concern for her.

“Tired more than anything, I’ve had a few… troublesome people on my back that I haven’t been able to shake. So, are you guys, like, here to rescue me? Can we please get going? There are so many other things I’d like to do today that does not include getting  _ captured _ and maimed by the bad guys.”

“That is  _ not _ going to happen,” Creepy Brick Wall said fiercely, with so much conviction and determination in his voice that she couldn’t help but believe him. Okay, so they must be the good guys. “Can you walk?”

She nodded.

“There is a service door at the end of the corridor,” the other guy said, pointing. “Let’s get out of here, too many uncovered exits.”

Brick Wall helped her stand, putting one arm around her back to support her. He gripped her a bit too tight, and she was too slow biting back the cry of pain. He looked at her sharply and she avoided his eyes, focused instead on walking forward, setting herself a goal.  _ Walk to the end of the hallway all your own. Stay awake and alert until you’re sure you’re safe, until you’re sure these  _ are _ the good guys. Stay alive. _

It’s how she’d survived the past few years.

“Had a rough go of it?” the other man said from behind them, and Darcy knew that he was watching their backs. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder now. She did anyway.

“What, you mean when your covert organization all but abandons you when you’re deep undercover and leaves you with no exit plan, it’s  _ supposed _ to be easy?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Come on. Let’s get you somewhere safe,” Brick Wall said, his voice quiet and reassuring. 

Safe. That world was alien to her now.

***

He had imagined this scenario a thousand times in his head, fantasized hundreds of variations of how things would go when he finally found her. He searched every database within his reach, tapped into Natasha’s deep intelligence network, leaving no stone unturned. All he knew about her life, every detail he could remember, all of it went into his search. For the longest time, it had been the only good thing about waking up 70 years outside his time, the knowledge that she was real and she was out there and all he had to do was find her.

She never turned up. Every Darcy they searched, the details never aligned, the pictures never matched the pencil sketch that was safe in the locket he wore under his shirt, the memories burned in his mind.

And then he found his team, and his place in this new world and a renewed purpose. But he never found her.

And the whole time, she was buried in a SHIELD database, one place he never thought to look.

He’d imagined it a thousand times, a thousand different scenarios.

He just wished he’d imagined  _ this  _ scenario, had prepared himself for the visceral, searing pain of finally finding her, finally seeing her again, and realizing that she had  _ no idea who he was _ .

He’d finally found his soulmate for real, and she didn’t remember him. 


	2. Safe?

_ “Were you dreaming, baby?” his voice says, ringing through the dark. She’s cold, so cold. Always cold when she wakes up. Sleep takes her somewhere endlessly dark and so incredibly cold. His warm body curls around hers, and she should welcome the extra heat, but his words sends a further chill down her spine. “Dreaming of him again?” _

_ “No,” she gasps, struggling as his strong arms push her down. He is strong and angry, and he easily catches her hand, pinning it down on the bed next to her head. His thumb slides across her tightly bandaged wrist, pressing hard against the fresh wound, causing her to cry out. _

_ “You’ll be free of him soon, I promise,” he whispers, ignoring her whimper as he wraps his large, strong fingers around her wrist and squeezes. _

***

Darcy woke up with a loud gasp, her body shooting upright before her brain could wake up fully and check the fear response. Her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings, as the past few hours came flooding back to her.  _ That’s right. I am on the quinjet. Safe. _

The bearded man was staring at her, seated at the end of the bench where she’d apparently chosen to pass out, his eyes locked on her, a frown of concern on his face.

“Sorry, I do that sometimes,” she muttered, her eyes flicking away, feeling embarrassed by her dramatic wake up. She wished he’d stop staring at her.

“It’s fine,” he said. “You’re injured?”

“Nothing to worry about,” she said, unconsciously moving her arms protectively in front of her abdomen, which was still burning from the strain of jolting upwards. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour. We’ll be landing soon,” he said, with a nod towards the cockpit. She could see Natasha piloting, the other man from the rendezvous seated beside here.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Visions of home danced in her head, the longing almost overwhelming her. She wondered, as she did every few hours every day, if her mom believed she was dead.

“We can’t take you home,” he said, looking away for the first time. “At least not yet. We have… some things to figure out first. But we’re going to take you somewhere safe until we come up with a plan.”

“Cool,” she said, her disappointment so visceral, it was hard to breath.

“We will get you home,” he said, leaning forward. “I promise.”

“You make a lot of promises,” she observed. He smiled faintly. A moment of silence passed.

“Darcy, you don’t recognize me?” he asked, his voice soft. She frowned, feeling very uncomfortable. She stared at him, trying to piece together where she might have seen him before. There was a sharp pain in her temple. When had the headache started? It was so hard to concentrate with the throbbing in her skull.

“Sorry, am I supposed to?” she said finally, and the throbbing eased. “I must have passed out before we got to the introductions.”

“Steve,” he said. “I’m Steve.”

“Well, thanks for the rescue, Steve,” she said, forcing a smile. “I was just about out of options. I’m really grateful you guys got my message.”

“You should never have been left out on your own,” Natasha interjected, coming over. “Cap, we’re just about to land.”

The bearded man nodded, and something clicked in her brain.

“Oh!” Darcy exclaimed. “ _ Steve Rogers _ , right? I definitely didn’t recognize you! How crazy is that. You know, without the whole, you know, red white and blue colour scheme, you look very different.”

For a second, his eyes had lit up, but then he was right back to the sad, heavy staring in her direction.

“Let’s get ready. Nat, you make sure the jet stays concealed, Sam, you stay with Darcy while I clear the safe house. We’re not taking any chances, that extraction went a little too smoothly. Something didn’t feel right.”

***

She didn’t recognize him at all. His name didn’t ring a bell, didn’t create any flash of recognition. His skin was crawling with the need to pull her to him, to untie the leather band around her wrist and run his finger over her Mark, to reassure himself that he hadn’t hallucinated his entire history with this girl.  _ His girl. _

“You need to get it together,” Natasha said to him, her voice low and quiet as he stood waiting for the hatch to open after they’d landed. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but we all need you to focus. You were right about that being too easy. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

  
“She doesn’t know me,” he said, the words escaping before he could clamp them down.

“I didn’t realize you knew Lewis,” Natasha said with a frown.

“It was a long time ago,” he said, wishing he hadn’t said anything. Natasha stared at him for a long moment.

“Look, Steve,” she said, slowly, seeming to choose her words carefully. “She’s been off the grid for so long, there are a lot of possible reasons why she wouldn’t know you. But -”

“Don’t finish that,” he said quietly, closing his eyes. Natasha placed her hand on his shoulder.

“ _ But _ we need to pay attention to anything that doesn’t sit right. Three years, and she surfaces  _ now _ ? We’re able to pick her up without  _ any _ trouble? Everything feel right about that to you?”

“You think this is a trap?” Steve asked, glancing back at Darcy, who seemed to be chatting with Sam.

“Not exactly. I just think... we’ll feel better once we get her inside and have a chance to hear from her exactly how and why she disappeared, and how and why she’s surfaced now,” Natasha said. “But we’re going to be gentle about it. Whatever her story is, she’s clearly had a rough time.”

“Fine,” he said, and as the hatch opened, he stormed away from the conversation, and the reality of the conversation. He had a building to clear.

Once he was out of view, he let his guard down for a moment. He reached inside his shirt, pulling out the worn, tarnished locket, and popped it open. The tiny, intricate pencil sketch he’d drawn, so many years ago, was still inside. It was moisture stained and starting to fade now, but he still considered it his finest work.

Darcy looked mostly the same. Older, exhausted, too thin. But it was his girl, sure as he’d dreamed of her every night. He snapped the locket shut, putting it safely in his pocket, and continued with his duty.


	3. Any Port In A Storm

_ They’re lying in bed, spent and reveling in the afterglow. She didn’t think she’d ever feel this way about anyone, not again. She can feel his hand on her wrist, his fingers on her leather bracelet. He is obsessed with her bracelet, had asked her to take it off more than once, to let him see what was underneath. _

_ “You never take it off,” he murmurs against her neck. “Why don’t you let me see it?” _

_ “Why do you want to see it?” she asks, the warm glow turning cold. “He… he died, my Mark turned silver.” _

_ “Because. I want you - all of you,” he says, his eyes staring straight into her. “And I can’t have it while you’re pathetically hung up on your dead Soulmate.” _

_ “Hung up?” She cries, sitting up, pushing him away. She is throwing off the blankets, jumping out of bed and searching for her clothing. “Hung up? If you knew - if you had any idea, or even _ tried _ to understand it a little bit, you would never say anything so cruel.” _

_ This is normal behaviour for them. Whatever energy it is that draws them together is unstable, tempestuous, volatile. _

_ He is sitting up, watching her shove on her pants, yank on her sweater, fumble around in the dark to find her bra. _

_ “I want to know the name of my rival,” he says coolly. She is fed up with his jealousy, sick to death of it. _

_ “You don’t  _ have  _ a rival,” she shouts. “Quit wasting time being jealous of a dead man. I am right here!” _

_ They stare each other down for a moment. He leans back, his arms crossed over his bare chest. She drops the clothing she had collected to the floor, and crawls back into bed, positing herself in his lap, taking his face between her two hands. _

_ “We are both here and we’re both alive. Nothing else matters,” she breaths as she kisses him. “I’ll show you, eventually. When the time is right.” _

_ She was already keeping secrets from him. What did it matter if she made a promise she had no intention of keeping? _

They made a big show of allowing her to settle in, her rescuers, these good guys who she’d handed life over to. Shown her to a room - small, simple furniture, clean. Handed her fresh towels and told her to take a long shower. Left out clean clothes for her.

But she can tell that they are just waiting for the right time. Making her feel comfortable. Making her feel safe enough to start talking. They’ll be patient for awhile, they’re the good guys, they’re not going to push. But sooner or later, they’re going to want to know where she’s been for the past three years.

Darcy spent a very long time in the shower. When she emerged, pink face, skin almost raw from the amount of time she spent scrubbing, she put on the black pants and white long-sleeved shirt they had left out of her. Tying her old khaki shirt around her waist, as always, she made her way downstairs to where the other three were not-so-casually waiting.

“We’ve got some food if you’re hungry. Not much more than MREs, unfortunately, but they’ll do in a pinch,” Sam said as she sat down at the large table they were gathered around. They’d all changed as well, now sporting casual clothes.

“I’m fine,” she said with a smile. Sam was warm - friendly, charming - and he was hard not to like. Creepy Bearded Man -  _ Steve _ , she reminded herself - was at the far end of the table, thankfully not staring at her. Instead, he was staring down into a steaming mug. “So, what is this place? Where are we?”

“Safe house,” Natasha said, sitting down, holding a mug of her own. “We’ve got a few spots spread out, in case we can’t make it back to base in one shot.”

Darcy sat for a moment, and then smiled weakly.

“Yes, but  _ where _ ? You picked me up in London. I don’t think we were in the air long enough to be back in the US… It’s just… look, I’ve spent the past few years largely in the dark about where I was. I’d… feel a lot more comfortable if you were open with me,” she said. Her voice sounded weak and raw to her own ears. So much time being guarded, it was strange being open about what she was feeling, almost like using a muscle she’d forgotten existed.

“Northeastern France, the Ardennes. Near Belgium,” Steve said, and she nodded to him in thanks.

“We’re going to spend a few days here, just to make sure that no one followed us, before we decide what the next move is,” Natasha explained. Darcy took a deep breath, preparing herself.

“So.” Three pairs of eyes stared at her, expectantly. “I guess you all need to know what happened.”

“Yes. I’d really like to know. You went dark,” Natasha said. “I don’t like leaving loose ends.”

“Loose end? I guess you could call me that. Do you remember my assignment?”

“Low-level counter-espionage, easy stuff, even for a new recruit. So, what happened?” Natasha asked, leaning forward.

“I was an idiot. I ignored one of the key things you taught me,” Darcy said with a shrug. “Everything was going fine. I actually really liked my job in the Senator’s office, it reminded me of my internship on Capitol Hill between my third and fourth year of college. I wasn’t learning much, but came across a few emails and meetings that proved to be useful.”

“Wait -  _ which Senator _ ?” Steve asked, his eyes fixed on Natasha, a hard edge in his voice.

“I think you know the answer,” she replied. “We tagged him after the Senate Committee hearings against Stark. We didn’t know the full extent of what he was up to, but there was enough to make us want to keep a close eye on him.”

“And I was that eye,” Darcy said. “But I didn’t really feel like it. The work… it was so  _ normal _ , like just regular office work and networking on the Hill, going to receptions to eat free food and drink free wine. I had a work wife, a coffee routine. I almost forgot what I was there for. All I had to do was the hack the server every few days, pull some data and transfer it over to our servers. No big deal.”

“So what happened?” Natasha asked.

Darcy hesitated, biting her lip and staring down at her fingers, contemplating how to approach the next part of the story.

“So, here is where I have to tell you about the stupid mistake I made, and how that mistake would basically derail my life until I got that message through to you a few days ago,” she said slowly. “Do you remember the advice you gave me, the last time I saw you before starting the assignment?”

“Trust no one, no matter who they say they are or who they say they work for,” Natasha said.

“God, you even said it in exactly the same way. But, that’s exactly what I did wrong. I didn’t follow your orders. At least not completely.”

“Who did you trust that you shouldn’t have?” Steve asked, his voice a low rumble, his eyes intent on her. There was clearly something simmering just below the surface with him, and despite the unsettling way he stared at her, Darcy was intrigued by his intensity. He didn’t know her, why was he taking such a personal interest in her story?

“He was assigned to the Senator’s security detail, it’s how we met. You spend enough time at boring events with the same people saying the same things, you naturally start to flirt with the cute security guy,” she said, shrugging, trying to explain. All eyes were on her, the room was so silent, it was suffocating. 

“I felt really awkward getting involved with someone when I had a bunch of secrets, who I actually worked for being the biggest. But… we were on the  _ same team _ . I thought it was going to be this adorable meet-cute story to laugh about when the assignment was over and I could tell him. Who I really was. That we were  _ both _ SHIELD.”

She looked around at the faces watching her. All poker faces, not a readable expression on either. No judgement, and no sympathy. It made her feel stronger, somehow. So she carried on.

“I think you all know the plot twist coming up,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “But I was in trouble well before that. He just… became really obsessed with what I was doing. Where I was going. How I was spending my time. He was always  _ around _ … It started making things harder for me to get the job done. He just… had his eyes  _ on  _ me all the time, you know?”

“Did he suspect that you were a SHIELD plant?” Sam asked.

“He didn’t suspect. He  _ knew  _ it, possibly the whole time. He confronted me. He was angry, like a kind of angry I’d never really seen… But then he told me that I needed to watch my back, that something wasn’t right with the organization. That even though he was so mad at me for lying, he was the only one I should trust. He promised to keep me safe from it all, whatever was going down. I was so stupid, so caught up in what he was saying, I didn’t even try to deny who I was working for - I admitted everything.”

“You’re wearing a band… is he…?” Sam prodded, nodding towards the leather band on her wrist, a universal indicator that she had a Soulmark. She clenched her fingers into a fist, pulling her hand down under the table, hiding it away as soon as she realized what he was talking about.

“ _ No _ . He wasn’t my Soulmate. I can’t blame this on some biological soul-bond blindness. I was just… in  _ love _ , and  _ scared  _ and he said he’d protect me. That kind of promise… it’s just very  _ powerful _ , isn’t it?” she said, a bit breathlessly. Even now, after so much time, the memory of that day held power over her. 

“Especially when, two days later, helicarriers started exploding in the sky and crashing into the river. I tried to get out of town, I was going to run to New York, get lost for a little while, but one of his teammates found me first. Brock had been badly injured, he  _ needed  _ me. So I went... and lost two years of my life believing I was with the good guys.”

“But you weren’t,” Natasha said, closing her eyes.

“But I wasn’t. I was with a  _ maniac  _ who used a twisted ideology as an excuse to commit violent acts of terrorism… and I couldn’t get away.”

Steve had stood, half way through her story, pacing around the room before stopping to look out the window. The weight of his staring was finally lifted, and she found she could breathe much easier for it.

“You said Brock… this was Rumlow?” Sam prodded gently. Her hands started to shake at the sound of his name, and she was relieved her hands were concealed under the table.

“Yes,” she said. She breathed through her mouth, trying to calm down the storm of emotions. “I almost got away after Lagos, so thank you for that. I’m not really sure what actually happened, but from the fairly candid vitriol the remaining members of his team were spewing about you guys, so I think you all had something to do with that.”

Her voice was breaking, and she swallowed, trying to quell her emotions.

“Sorry,” she breathed. “He was horrible, and violent and he spent years gaslighting me and he stole my life and then he died and left me at the mercy of his twisted team members… I  _ know  _ all the things he did, and for whatever sick reason, I still can’t  _ help  _ still grieving him.”

“But you got away. You’re here,” Natasha said, her voice quiet but filled with strength. “You did that.”

“I am. Rollins, who I’m sure you know, was his partner in terror and he decided, for whatever reason, that I was valuable to them. They - he - tried to control me the same way Brock could… but the pressure was on. You guys being the pressure, I think. He got distracted, and distracted usually means sloppy, and he left a computer logged in.”

“You hacked them?”

“I hacked them. Three minutes and their entire security and communications network went dark, and in the twenty minutes it took to get back online, I was gone. And now here I am,” she said.

“Do you know why they thought you were valuable?” Steve asked, his voice rough even as he continued to stare out the window. His hands were clenched at his side, and even with his back to her, she could tell that he was tense. 

“No,” she said, pulling her wrist closer against her body, grabbing the sleeves of the khaki shirt tied around her waist, bunching the material in her fist. “Without Brock, I don’t know why they decided they needed to keep me. I knew nothing, I was in an information void, I  _ wasn’t  _ down with their mission in any way...”

“You brought down their network in three minutes,” Sam said with a raised eyebrow. “Maybe that had something to do with it?”

“But they would never have let me near a computer  _ on purpose _ ,” she shrugged. “Honestly? Simple cruelty is my best guess.”

“Okay. I think that, considering this little debriefing we just hosted for you, you deserve a drink. We should have a bottle of scotch hidden around here,” Sam said, standing up. With a quick glance to Natasha and Steve that Darcy might not have noticed if she hadn’t spent so much time in a state of hyper-paranoia, he gestured towards Darcy. “Come on, let’s go dig it out.”

***

Steve watched the light drain from the landscape as he stared out of the window, as the sun set. He could hear Sam lead Darcy away, keeping up a light hearted banter. Natasha was standing up, walking towards him.

“So. Steve, you got something you need to tell me?” she asked. He turned towards her, reluctantly.

“You and I are both learning everything here at the same time,” he said. Her eyes narrowed, and he looked away, cursing her perceptiveness.

She locked her eyes on the wrist guards he always wore as part of his uniform, and flicked her eyes up at him.

“No, I don’t think that we are,” she drawled out slowly. She reached out, touching his arm. “Steve, you’ve always covered your wrist, ever since you came out of the ice. No one has ever known if you have a Mark or not, and I’ve always respected that. Even when SHIELD had me learning everything I could about you.”

“Why are you bringing this up now?” he asked. She looked at him for a long moment.

“Because I have a theory,” she said, taking his hand and turning it over. “A theory that if you were to ever take this off, the name of your Soulmark is going to be the girl that Sam just led out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever and was really hard, y’all. So much exposition. I tried a bunch of different way to get this information out, flashbacks etc, but here we are. Some answers (but not ALL the answers yet).
> 
> Up next: Darcy and Steve get another moment alone together, because I am not done torturing him yet.


	4. It Starts With a Wish

_ She can’t sleep anymore. She can’t stand closing her eyes and waking up after a night without dreams. Sleeping is cold, sleeping is empty, sleeping is a heartbreaking reminder of all that she’s lost. _

_ Her parents make her see specialists, worry about her constantly as she struggles through her first and second years of college. She drags herself through her semesters, feeling lost and unhappy with everything she studies. _

_ One day, a sharp pain stabs across her wrist, a burning cold pain like she’s touched frozen iron. She tears off her leather bracelet, her heart pounding in her chest, even though she knows what she’ll find there. She has been expecting it, any day, ever since the last time she saw him. _

His _ name, usually large, blocky printing in dark black letters covering her wrist, has been replaced with thin, silvery script. She touches it with shaking fingers, and feels like her heart is imploding in her chest. _

_ Her roommates find her on the floor, and it takes the combined forces of her roommates, her parents and a doctor to get her off of it again. Six months later, six months of grief and recovery, she returns to Culver. She’s still lost, unsure of what her path forward should be, having lost the one who used to guide her. She finds a job posting for an internship, enough credits to make up for some of the semesters she’d lost. The idea of working for a scientist, of exploring the reality and limits of the universe, is the first thing that gets her excited since her first dreamless night. _

_ *** _

Steve stared at Natasha for a long moment, before pulling his hand away from hers.

“If that were the case, Nat, I think we both know that kind of  _ theory  _ could bring that girl a lot of trouble... which would be the last thing she needs,” he said carefully. “She’s barely out of it now.”

“And she doesn’t remember you,” Natasha said, her voice low. “Had you two actually met before?”

“It’s complicated,” he sighed. 

“We need to see her Mark,” Natasha said, meeting his eyes. She was solemn and determined, and he knew it would be difficult to stop her if she decided it was necessary. But it felt too personal, too intrusive, and his protective instincts were screaming at the thought of anyone else seeing her Mark. He’d never even spoken about it with anyone before.

“Steve, don’t look at me like that. If there is a Soulbond, and you’ve  _ met  _ and she doesn’t  _ remember  _ you… that could mean a whole hell of a lot more than the situation  _ we think  _ we have on our hands.”

“Like I said, it’s complicated,” Steve sighed. Natasha surveyed his face carefully.

“How are you doing with this?” She asked. “From everything we do know about Soulmarks, being denied by your Match is supposed to be pure agony.”

Steve dragged a hand through his hair.

“I’ve only had this for a few hours now, Nat,” he said. “So I don’t really know. The only thing I do know is that she’s  _ alive _ , and she’s  _ right here _ , and that’s more than I’ve ever had.”

“So what does that mean? What’s the plan?”

“Enjoy it. Work like hell to keep her safe, which is a mission I think you’re on board with. Hope she’ll remember me,” he said. “And if she doesn’t, hope that I can make her care about me again.”

“Goddamn Hydra,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

***

It was early the next morning. Steve was checking the perimeter, slowly making his way through the dense woods surrounding the safe house. He’d slept fitfully, waking after barely an hour of sleep to take his turn on watch, and hadn’t been able to stay still. 

The air was fresh and the early morning light was filtering softly through the trees, and the time alone gave him time to think, to clear his head. He was almost ready to return to the safe house and felt like he could face Darcy again and possibly act normal, when he came across a clearing.

Where, perched on a fallen log, Darcy sat. She glanced up at him, and held up the cigarette in her hand and smiled sheepishly.

“Needed some fresh air,” she said with a shrug. She was wearing her black leather jacket from the day before, and had that khaki shirt tied around her waist again.

“Does that count as fresh air?” he asked, with a pointed look at her cigarette. “You know smoking is pretty bad for you, right?”

She looked up at him, a cheeky smile on her face and he felt his heart jump into his throat, the familiarity of it.

“I should have known that Captain America would be a total Jiminy Cricket,” she exclaimed with a playful roll of her eyes.

“I just go by Steve these days,” he said, dropping down next to her on the log. “And I find it hard to believe I’m  _ anything  _ like a cartoon cricket.”

“Ah, I was worried you wouldn’t know about Jiminy!” she cried, pleased with him. “He is  _ so  _ much more just a cricket. He’s your conscience, he tells you what’s right from wrong and keeps you on the right path. He’s basically wonderful.”

“I think there’s a compliment buried in there,” he said, with a sideways glance at her. He couldn’t help the swell of hope that was gathering deep inside him. She was so light and carefree, had chided him so many times when she was a teenager for moralizing at her, it all felt familiar and so  _ good _ , it was overwhelming. “Yes, I know about the cricket, but… well, I haven’t actually seen the cartoon yet.”

“ _ What _ ? You need to meet Jiminy. I’ll show you on YouTube,” she promised, and then she paused, her eyes wide. “Oh my god,  _ YouTube _ ! It still exists, right? I haven’t had a phone in so long!”

“YouTube still exists,” he said with a laugh.

“ _ Perfect _ . You’ll see, everyone has a Jiminy Cricket in their lives,” she said fondly. “Mine was the best.”

“Oh yeah? Who is yours?” he asked. Her smile faltered, and a light seemed to go out in her eyes.

“I lost him a few years back,” she said, her voice soft, her smile tight. “Probably could have used him, come to think of it. He was the only one who probably could have steered me clear of Brock.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words too small for all that he was feeling, for the depth of regret that swelled as he took in the look on her face.

“It’s fine,” she said, shrugging. She stubbed out her cigarette on a rock near her feet with a wry look in his direction. “Got you now, don’t I? You’re going to help keep out of trouble?”

“We will see if I can,” he said, adopting a playful tone, even as he struggled to keep himself from promising her the world. Wanting to swear he’d take her far away from danger, keep her safe forever, do anything she wanted to make up for the years they’d lost. “I read your file last night, I don’t know if anyone can take on that job alone.”

She looked at him quizzically for a moment out of the corner of her eye.

“I like that you’re talking to me now,” she said.

“I was talking to you before.”

“ _ No _ , you made declarative statements and stared at me from across the room in a weird, super-heavy kind of way in between bouts of loaded silence,” she insisted. “Look, Nat brought me up to speed on what I missed in  _ your  _ world while I was… well, dwelling in the underworld, so I  _ get it _ . I’m just saying, the fact that you’re talking to me now is good. Please don’t go all silent on me again.”

“I can’t help but feel responsible for everything that’s happened to you,” he confessed, unable to hold it back, the words out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

“And that’s how I know,” she said with a relaxed sigh.

“Know what?”

“That I finally managed to end up with the good guys,” she said. She stood up, brushing a dried leaf from her pants’ leg. “I’m going to head back now. Coming?”

“I’m going to finish my patrol,” he said. “Have Nat call it over the radio when you’re back in the house.”

“Aye aye,” she said, with a casual wave. She started walking away, and he watched her go. He was light-headed with hope, the conversation revealing shades of his Darcy that he worried were gone forever, their rapport easy and familiar despite the fact that he was a virtual stranger to her.

He breathed in deeply, and started to turn away, when a flash of red caught his eye. It was small, would have been unnoticeable to most people, but in a split second, he recognized the tiny red dot on her back for what it was, and sprung into action.

Sharpshooter.


	5. Freedom

_ Her wrist starts to ache, the pain growing stronger and more palpable each day, building up to unbearable over the course of three weeks. She still can’t bring herself to unclasp her bracelet, can’t bear to look at the silver writing where his print had once been, to investigate what was happening. She tries to ignore it, and tries to hide it from Brock. If he knew something was up, he’d start insisting all over again that she show him her Mark, and the idea of opening that part of her life to him makes her feel nauseous.  _

_ Their arguments are growing worse, like there is an angry energy that grows between them, geting stronger stronger every time they feed it with another fight, until what used to be playful banter and teasing becomes furious screaming matches and slamming doors. _

_ But the throbbing ache grows too strong and she can’t sleep, can’t do anything but focus on the pain. He finds her at 3 a.m. huddled on the armchair in her room, unable to stop shaking and crying, rocking herself endlessly, desperate for relief. _

_ “What is it, baby?” he asks, kneeling before her, his voice soft. He is hardly ever soft, and she crumbles as it reminds her, just for a moment, of the man whose name burns on her skin. _

_ Years of grief and longing are compounding with her very real physical agony, and she breaks, his soft voice and concern shattering her completely. _

_ “I can’t -” she sobs, nearly hyperventilating. Her desperation bubbles to the surface, burning away all of her facades. “I can’t take it anymore. It  _ hurts. _ I just want it  _ gone _ .” _

_ She has one hand wrapped around her wrist, just below her leather bracelet, and he understands what she means. _

_ “I want it off my skin. I want him out of my head,” she whispers slowly, her voice breaking. “I just want it all to go away.” _

_ He takes her head in his hands, his eyes glowing with compassion as he strokes her hair. _

_ “I think I know of a way to help.” _

_ *** _

_ Brock’s hand is solid and reassuring on her thigh as she fiddles with the clasp of her bracelet. The doctors he’s brought her to see are sitting across from her, a team of four, watching with a kind of clinical detachment that she finds unsettling. _

_ “Come on, baby,” Brock whispers encouragingly. “They need to see it if they’re going to help you.” _

_ Her decision is made. Just like she let him go so many years ago, freed him of their bond and what he would have felt was his duty to it, she needs to let him go all over again. Or it will kill her. It  _ is _ killing her. _

_ She undos the buckle of her bracelet with trembling fingers, fumbling a few times, and then slides it away, revealing her Soulmark. _

_ And she cries out as she sees what has been hiding.  _

_ The silver name she dreaded seeing was gone. _

_ His name, the big blocky print of his handwriting that she used to tease him about all the time (how can an artist have such ugly printing, she always chided), is dark and defined and real against her pale wrist. She stares at it in wonder, runs a finger over the dark writing as her heart feels like it’s going to jump out of her chest.  _ Did this mean he was alive?

_ She hears a soft gasp, turns to see that Brock has seen it. Before she can withdraw her hand, pull it away against her chest, away from these strangers’ eyes, he snatches her wrist, squeezing tight, holding it in place. _

_ She meets his eyes. _

_ “I don’t understand, it-it turned silver,” she starts to say, but his hold is too strong, crushing, and it cuts off whatever she was going to say. The line of doctors are standing up, the sound of their shouting filling the room as they all see her Soulmark. _

_ “Come with me,” he says, quietly, just for her. He’s pleading, that caring tone, the one that touches the very core of her being, ringing in his words. “ _ Now.  _ While I can still get you out of this.” _

_ But it’s too late. They’ve all seen, and one of the doctors has hit a button, and the door locks behind them. _

***

_ She is foggy and disoriented as the sedative they kept her dosed with starts to wear off. Her Mark is burning. When had that started? Everything is a blur, and if she tries to think too hard about her Mark, the fog comes to claim her again, and the world goes dark. _

_ “Baby, come on, wake up.” _

_ She can hear the voices discussing her fate in hushed tones in the distance. Brock is cradling her face, trying to make her focus, trying to get her moving. The voices are far away, in another room. He shushes her, a finger pressing against her lips. _

_ “It’s an entirely experimental procedure.  _ He  _ is her soulmate! Why would we risk that leverage on something we don’t even know is going to work?” _

_ “Because if he is hers, then it stands to reason that she must be his.” _

_ “But we don’t know that for sure. I’ve checked every file, there is no record of him even having a Mark.” _

_ “He’d hide it. Make sure the wrong people don’t find out about it. Or her. It’s what I would have done.” _

_ “You’re  _ Unmatched _ Rollins, your opinion here is barely worth listening to.” _

_ “There is a greater than 95% chance that we have his soulmate - that is a fact. Now tell me why you want to risk that?” _

_ “You’re not getting it. If we do this, and it’s successful, she will still be  _ his _ soulmate. And we keep all the leverage that implies.” It’s the doctor, the one whose face she sees and whose voice she hears every time a new injection comes, knocking her out. “What  _ does  _ change… he won’t be hers anymore. She’ll be blank. Or… a new name, one that we choose, could take his place.” _

_ “You’re going to rewrite her DNA to erase her soulbond and forcibly bond her to someone else? I don’t see what that gets us.”  _

_ “Rollins, why are you even involved in this conversation? Given your past friendship with this woman, you’re compromised.” _

_ “What we get is maximum leverage. Maximum impact. Maximum cruelty. We bond her to someone we chose, we have control over her. He is bonded to her. She will have control over him.” _

_ “If it doesn’t work?”  _

_ “Come on baby, time to go.” It’s Brock again, he’s lifting her up into his arms. Her eyes are half open, and she tries to speak. He shakes his head slightly at her, and she stops trying. “Me and Jack, we’re getting you out of here.” _

_ “If it doesn’t work and she survives, we still have his soulmate. We’ve already started, the early rounds of the process have been very successful.” _

_ The discussion carries on, but Darcy never knows what they decide. Brock carries her away, slipping out a side door while Jack Rollins distracts them. _

_ She tries to remember why she was there, why this had happened to her.  _

***

_ They are the ones that rescued her, that took her away from weeks of pain and torture, but something doesn’t feel right. She’s locked away, Brock says it’s to keep her safe but deep in her gut, she knows something is wrong. His eyes, whenever he’s in the room with her, are locked on her bandaged wrist.  _

_ The other shoe drops. _

_ “We have their tech now, baby. We can finish what they started for you,” he says, his voice excited. “I can free you of him completely now.” _

_ Her head is cloudy, her vision swimming, as it always is now when he mentions her Soulmark. There is a feeling in the back of her mind, a nagging sense of something very big, very important, but her mind can’t wrap around it.  _

_ “I’m not sure anymore,” she says. There it is, the memory becoming tangible for just a moment, the large dark block wording across her wrist. But as she focuses her eyes on her bare wrist, it fades away, dissolving as her head begins to throb and she forgets why she wants to stop.  _

_ “Darcy, you will never be safe again unless we do this,” he says, taking her hands in his. He’s solid and real and she can focus on his eyes and her head stops pounding. “It’s not going to be like before. I’ve got you, Jack’s got you. We’re going to make sure you’re free.” _

_ She looks away, remembering the burning, searing pain as their ‘tech’ reached into her soul to rewrite its basic code, a violent process that made her wish she were dead. _

_ His hand is wrapped around her wrist, his thumb slowly pushing against the healing wound, and she knows she doesn’t really have a choice. The ghost of a memory lingering at the back of her mind is not worth sacrificing her future. She needs to be free - from all of it, from Brock, from SHIELD, from hiding, from hurting.  _

_ “Promise me he’ll be gone?” she says, and he nods.  _

_ *** _

_ She hears the explosions in the sky, and she runs to the window. Brock has been completely dark for days, other than a terse text message that she need to lay low while he’s gone. _

_ She sees the wreckage of what she swears is a SHIELD hellicarrier burning as it crashes into the river and she realizes this is her moment. She could run and get lost in the chaos. She could find Jane, her friend would take her in, help protect her. Maybe she could send her to Asgard and Thor, as far away from everything she could get.  _

_ Decision made, she runs to the door, swinging it open. _

_ Jack is standing on the other side, his face tense and serious. _

_ “It’s Brock, Darcy. SHIELD’s been compromised, and he’s been badly injured. I’ve come to take you to him, he needs you,” he is saying, taking her hand. She starts to twist free but a sharp look from him stops her. _

_ “He needs you,” he says once more and the right leaves her body.  _

_ “Let’s go. Take me to him.” _

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry.


End file.
